Names
by Eyes like Dawn
Summary: Simply cute moments that take place while Belle lives at Rumpel's estate when their love begins to blossom and in the quaint town of Storybrooke after the curse. Formerly one-shot now a series of non-connecting ficlets all in one place. No drama, just all fluff.
1. Names

_A/N: I know I should be working on my other story, but this wouldn't leave me alone. Hope you enjoy!_

**~8~8~**

He's not truly a beast as many claim he is, Belle thinks as she dusts off the vast collection of trinkets and curiosities her master has gathered throughout the years. It is an odd collection that has no specific rhyme or reason. It's as if he had been collecting simply to collect, as it were. His large gallery of odds and end suits his personality perfectly; strange, yet in an intriguing way that makes her want to take a closer look and reveal their hidden mysteries behind them. Rumpel is a lot like that; full of mysteries and conundrums she has yet to unlock, perhaps never to pry open.

She spares as quick glance his way as she continues dusting, hoping not to get caught in the process; he might accuse her of day dreaming at her chores again. He never scolds her too harshly, but she always feels as if she's disappointing him, and she hates disappointing the master.

This time he doesn't notice or lets it slide as he sits turning the wheel of his loom at a leisurely pace, conjuring flaxen straw into sheening stands of gold that glitter in the fireplace light. He doesn't look at her, but she likes to believe he thinks about her as much as she does him.

What was she thinking about again? That's right, him being named a beast. She scolds herself mildly for getting off track while she is already not concentrating on her work. Such has always been her way, but she forces herself to concentrate on her first wandering thought that had crept into her head.

She's comes to the conclusion that he is defiantly not a beast. Beasts are wicked things that like tormenting others for sport. He doesn't torment her, he's specific and many a day strict, but does not go out of his way to make her life hell. Beasts are cruel and pompous; he's never been cruel to her. Aloof, unresponsive, ignoring she even exists some days, sometimes a punishment when she leaves a chore undone, yet he can be a kind master when the mood strikes him.

She has met far worse men than him, and if they are not branded beasts, he certainly does not deserve the infamous title.

"What going on in that head of yours, Belle?" He asks her casually though doesn't look away from his work.

She suppresses the urge to flinch, though her face flushes with guilt; so he had seen her cast a glance in his direction. "I was thinking about names and titles, master." She admits simply enough with a half sincere smile that falls away as quickly as it comes as she turns back to her work.

From the corner of her eye she sees him nod slightly, thankfully letting her reply suffices for tonight. He's in a lenient mood, thankfully, or perhaps to given to his own thoughts to pay her much mind for the time being.

"More tea, if you please." He requests of her mildly. There is no giggle or snap in his voice, he sounds very normal, very human.

She nods once then gracefully strolls to the hearth where his favorite blue and white ceramic kettle sits near the fire to keep the brew from chilling. He loves tea, she knows as she pours the steaming brown brew into his favorite chipped cup. Beasts don't love anything save themselves, especially not tea with exactly three lumps of sugar.

The sudden thought of serving a huge grotesque beast tea from such a tiny fragile cup makes her giggle, and that in turn makes her master stop his spinning to look up to her.

She always tenses a bit when he looks at her, she doesn't know why, but it never fails when her eyes meet his.

"Does something strike you as funny?" He asks her. He doesn't sound irked or annoyed at her laughter, just curious as if he missed out on some joke.

She tilts her head down subserviently to break the eye contact as she hands him his tea. She doubts he would find her thought funny. "Just a small thing I remembered from today." She lies half-heartedly, she knows it doesn't do any good anyway, somehow he can always read her lies. Her only hope is that the master's lenient mood persists.

He flashes a soft thin smile as he takes his cup and their hands touch just for a moment making the hair prickle on the back of her neck. He doesn't press any further but lets her keep her thoughts tucked away to herself

As she breaths a quiet sigh of relief that he chooses not to pursue, Belle turns back to the cabinet preparing to finish her task.

"Enough work for today." He states before taking an appreciative sip of the hot tea.

He smacks his lips happily savoring the flavor before beckoning to the soft blue wool rug in front of the fire place where he knows she often sits to relax when chores had been completed. It's usually with a book, but he hasn't seen one lying on a shelf nearby with a dog ear in it. He knows she likes it there on the soft woolen rug because he often watches her there, lost in some enchanted tale until she curls up and nods off to sleep from her daily list of tasks.

He is in a very lax mood tonight Belle observes with a little surprise. But far be it from her to question the master's generosity. Okay it wasn't that far from her, but for tonight she too would let her usual nature slide and simply take his leniency at face value.

"Thank you, master." She dips a slight curtsey to him that make his lips twitch slightly upward.

He watches her as she sits upon the warm rug, her hands smoothing out the wrinkles in her blue skirt. Everything she does seems graceful even when it is the simplest motion. He catches himself from staring to long at her, and resumes to spin at an even slower pace, as he gazes upon the point where straw transforms into something more. Something fabulous and different.

"So, you were thinking about names, were you?" He attempts to prod the conversation to life once more.

He likes listening to her thoughts, even more often than not, they are simple fancies and whims that she day dreams of; maybe he just likes hearing her voice instead of silence. Whatever it is, he loves hearing her speak.

This time she cannot suppress a flinch, she should have known he would not let her day dreaming slide so easily. "I was thinking how names and titles don't match who people truly are."

"Ah, well, I think my name matches me decently." He replies. "An odd name for an odd creature." He winks at her roguishly.

She can't help but giggle at his all too true words.

He never laughs, but smiles warmly when Belle does.

"I also think Belle suits you nicely." He adds on, almost without thinking.

"Oh?" She looks curiously at him now. "How so, master?"

He shrugs as his spinning stops and the loom halts its hypnotic cycle. _"Belle, a lovely name for a lovey girl."_ At least that's what he wants to say, but doesn't. He smirks instead. "Belle, it certainly does have a pleasant 'ring' to it."

Her face seems to glow as her bubbling laugher fills the room at his terrible humor; she does find a quip or two of his quite hilarious at times when he's not being sarcastic or mean.

"Well I think your name should be Gold, the way you weave so much of it." She chuckles at her master. There is no cruelty in her tease at his peculiar pastime and he allows himself another smile. He was being rather lenient this night.

"Gold." He tests the name as if tasting it on his lips. He smiles faintly at her words. He quite likes that name; it's simple, uncomplicated, and as lovely as Belle...


	2. Picnic

_A/N: This was meant to be a one shot but I think drabble better suits it now since I can't stop writing up more special moments in Rumpel's estate. Doesn't really matter. Who can resist Rumpel/Belle cuteness anyway? Also, thanks for reviewing, you guys are awesome!_

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><p>"Belle." Rumpel called her name in a brisk manner as he stared out of freshly washed window that still glinted with the last streaks of water from Belle's sponge.<p>

The land outside was just beginning to bloom with life from a harsh winter that had choked the forest and villages. Buds had begun to appear on the branches of the gnarled trees that for so long had stood barren and hostile their winding limbs like boney fingers of a corpse that waited to grasp. Now their persons were being garbed in fresh livery of life and pale green like court gowns or gentlemen wear.

Soft green grass was beginning to sprout in odd tufts from the melting snow; the peak of faint yellows and pinks of flowers that dotted some of the freshly sprouted greenery was enough to foretell that this spring would be an especially beautiful one.

The birds had come back, twittering their gay songs on the perches on the dressing trees. Their colors of blue and red were like blurs as they swooped about from ground to tree crafting their future homely lofts with the utmost skill.

Rumpel had never cared for spring, or any season for that matter. It was what happened, nothing to care for, and nothing to mind. That had been is thoughts until Belle had bargained her freedom away and come to live as his willing captive. She loved the seasons, especially spring. It was amusing in its own way to hear the lightness to her step and her cheery hum as she worked with the warm sun filtering in through the widows with their drapes drawn back.

Only quick footsteps told him Belle had arrived as he still gazed upon the dawning of spring. He could hear the familiar slosh of water that she toted around in an old wooden bucket as she placed in gently on the floor careful not to let a drop splash upon her freshly waxed floor.

She said nothing, but from the reflection in the window he could see her clasp her worked hands together in front of her waiting on his word.

"It's a beautiful day out." He began mildly. It was in a way to show that he was neither angry nor wanting to be ordering her about. No, it was his way of showing that he only desired to talk.

Belle nodded in agreement, her mood relaxing as she realized this was only a quaint chat. Sometimes he called her just to speak what was on his mind. Perhaps he just grew tired or bored of the silence, but Belle never minded when the mood took him to speak. "Very beautiful. I had the kitchen window ajar to listen to the birds sing this morning. Twill be a pleasant day today. "

"Indeed it will." He replied with a slight smile coming to his thin lips. He turned to his captive slightly though not enough to be facing her. "We shall take our midday tea out on the grounds today. It should be warm and dry enough."

He knew she would like the idea with the kindness he had deemed to display to her. After all the time cooped up, with only more work to look forward to, a small retreat into the fresh day would do her some good. Besides, he saw no reason not to; it was only a lunch. Why not have different scenery from the artifact strewn main hall; he was not a creature of habit after all. A change of scenery might do them both good in fact.

Even though he wasn't facing her directly he could see her face light with happiness. "Do you truly mean that?" She asked expectantly with a touch of timidity as if with an inkling of fear he'd laugh in her face at getting her hope up. It wasn't that she disbelieved the master; it was simply a precaution to double check, knowing how his mood could change at a whim at times.

"Of course I mean it." He scoffed slightly in chiding tones. "I've never said things I don't mean."

She bobbed slightly in a curtsey, her excitement flushing through her like the spring flushing through the land ridding it of winters bite. "I shall make us an exceptionally wonder luncheon this day then." She giggled almost making the devious Rumpel break into a grin.

"Well get to it." He shooed her away with a flick of the wrist though there was no sting to his words. It was more akin to mock scolding.

He had been right; the day was gorgeous as he opened the huge oaken double doors that led to the outside of the forlorn refuge. Puffy white clouds that looked more like curdled snow strayed about the wide blue range of the sky, as if out enjoying the grand spring day as well. Butterflies had swarmed out in mass to greet the new flowers who peaked from their buds eagerly, dancing about on the warm breeze that wafted with the scent of fresh lavender.

Rumpel could not contain a smile as he watched Belle soak the wondrous day in, her eyes closed as her head tilted towards the warm sun. It'd been the first time she'd been outside in months, more due to Rumpel's strict rules of staying inside than the bitterly cold weather. She held a small brown wicker bask in the crook of her arm with a checkered red and white cloth in the other.

"Truly beautiful." She whispered in awe, as the breeze tousled her maple curls that were tied loosely behind her with a bit of cord.

"Yes it is." He agreed his tone uncaring however, though his eyes never left the beauty that stood next to him.

Giving her a gentlemanly bow, he held out his arm polity making Belle giggle. Playing along, she dipped in a slight curtsey as she'd do at court when greeting a new comer or petitioning dance partner at a ball, then taking his proffered arm.

The pair walked leisurely through the greenery as if it had been made of velvet and the world nothing more than a noble court. Their wandering led them to a single oak that toward towards the cerulean sky, the buds breaking out upon every limb.

Belle had once seen the tree from specific open window on the third floor of the palace she now dwelled. It had been a cold winter dusk with the sun marred by thick stony clods of clouds that threatened a harsh snow and bitterly cold night in her room which was actually a cell. On that particular night the barren tree looking so somber and ominous it had made images of some sort of gallows appear in her head with people swinging from lengths of raw hide rope by their necks.

Now with the freshness of life washing over it only looked like a tree that had the potential of becoming a favorite spot to read under in the summer and spring, if Rumpel found that he'd desired to do this sort of thing again. Who knew, he was a man of odd whims.

As they neared the wide base Rumpel took the sheet of colorful cotton from her hand, and with a flaunting flourish opened it with a deft flick of the wrist letting it perfectly fall on the soft grass.

He posed another elegant bow as if he were only the servant and she the mistress earning him another one of her chuckles.

Kneeling upon the blanket she opened the wicker basket revealing a blue and white kettle painted delicately with flowers that stared from the bottom the wound their way around the handle. After placing it down solemnly she pulled out two cups, and a host of light delicious finger foods stacked high on a plate that matched the kettle.

"Exceptionally wonderful." He echoed her words in his high pitched tone before plucking up an item from the plate.

Belle shrugged shyly, though there was no denying a proud tone in her voice. "I think such a special occasion deserved a special luncheon."

"Oh?" He managed to say through the food in his mouth. "What occasion are you refereeing to, dearie?"

The beauty sighed, leaning against the oak to look out upon the scenic grounds that buzzed with new life. "The first day of true spring." She paused for a moment turning to look at him, her head cocked slightly.

It was a look that played upon her beautiful face that made his heart lurch in his chest, and his throat tighten. A look he didn't understand, but in retrospect found that he didn't want to understand. There were something's that didn't need explaining.

"When new things began to grow." Belle finished as if hypnotized by Rumpel's gaze.

As if realizing suddenly realizing they'd been staring at one another for far too long, they disconnected their stares pretending to fiddle with the food before them. They found themselves getting into those awkward staring sessions far too often. A softly spoken word from Belle, perhaps a quip from Rumpel and the next things they knew they realized they had simply been starting at one another silently.

Belle busied herself pouring the tea that still sat mildly warm in the pot in Rumple's cup. Looking up to hand it to him, she suddenly burst out laughing.

"What?" Rumpel asked confused at her sudden reaction.

Clasping a hand over her mouth, the young woman tried to contain her giggles but couldn't the best she could manage was pointing to Rumpel's head.

Frowning slightly the magical fiend conjured a mirror to his side just to see what the laughter was all about. A butterfly had landed upon his head. Its golden wings pumping casually as it sat perched quite comfortably.

Even his lips tipped up at the ridiculous sight.

"Well now, it seems that you have a hidden talent for attracting butterflies, master Rumpel." She stated jokingly.

"It appears I do." He replied good naturedly before swiping at the crown of his head making the butterfly drift off back to the budding flowers.

The awkwardness of the previous moment seemed to flutter away with the golden insect, letting the pair drift back into enjoying the afternoon, and one another's company at the dawning of true spring.


	3. Night Showers

He should have been back by now; Belle thinks to herself worriedly as she watches the driblets of rain tear down the clear large pane on the main hall. The dancing flames in the banked hearth glimmer the reflection of the water tapering down upon the cleaned glass. She twists her clever, now calloused fingers, like an old wife as she peers into the darkness.

They sky is transformed from tranquil velvet midnight obsidian to a filthy soulless dark as ugly clods of clouds billow overhead pouring the streams of water down to the unprotected earth that drinks it in thirstily.

Thunder seems to rattle the entire keep as if it were a play thing in a destructive child's grip, and the blinding streaks of lightening seem like a whip lashing to beat the defenceless sky. The night is illuminated to midday every time a fork of the silver brilliance stabs across the precipitous firmament.

Watching it all, Belle knows Rum is out there; unprotected by the storms awesome fury. Of course he has his foul magic, but that never stops her from worry. He is out alone in the raging gale, probably surrounded by people who wouldn't think twice of dispatching him of his life.

Not that he doesn't deserve demise, of course. He is infamous throughout all the kingdoms as trickster and trouble maker, the one who in the end only makes things worse than they already were or plants the seeds of regret and guilt they bloom later in life as ravenous, choking weeds.

He probably deserves whatever has been charged upon his head, but that still does not stop her heart from lurching spasmodically to think about it. Somewhere out there he is alone and wet and cold and…

"Dearie." His odd accent seems to waft around the room with a slight quiver in it.

Part of her wants to shout in glee at his sudden return, while the other stifles the urge to jump in surprise. At times he does take a certain amount of sadistic pleasure in sneaking up on her unawares while she's inadvertently slacking off inadvertantly in a day dream.

Her mind tends to wander while she toils, but if he truly has a problem with her 'cloud watching' absentmindedness as he sometimes terms it, he has never said. A part of her secretly thinks he might enjoy watching her staring blankly into the distance, lost in some whimsical thought.

Forcing her self not to breathe a huge sigh of relief, the beauty turns to face a grinning Rumpel. Her master is utterly drenched from head to foot in frigid rainwater. His long, dirty brown wavy hair drips steadily all over her scrubbed floor and the intricate carpet.

"What are you still doing up?" He asks her curiously, and Belle thinks he's trying to hide that his teeth are chattering violently from cold.

Compassion for him over rules any thought she previously held. He's cold and dripping wet from the icy sheets of misty rain that pattern in a shimmering tint across his gray and gold scaly flesh.

Her heart melts for the shivering Rumpelstiltskin even though she knows not many would feel the same tenderness. She wonders briefly if all the rumors about her when she was still a princess in her father's land were true.

They have always termed her odd in whispers behind her back. Though she never considered herself such could they have hold clout? Here she was feeling mercy for the Dark One.

"I was concerned for you, master." She admits as she ushers him to a chair by the low banked fire and shoos the thoughts away. She hasn't cared what anyone thinks then or now.

The mulling glows of the hearth won't do much, so she adds a few more logs and pokes the ember to bring the roaring fire back to life. Tongues of greedy flame eagerly pounce upon the dried wood to engorge upon it, sending eerie shadows marring across the mottled gray walls and rich burgundy tapestries.

He scoffs at her words, though his slit onyx eyes dart about her curiously like an intrigued beast does a wary new creature, as he hunkers down in the rather plush, high backed, mulled rust hued arm chair. "Heh, no need to worry, I always come back in one piece, Dearie; never you fear."

And what if you don't? Belle fights not to say those words as she fetches a thick blanket from nearby she had the foresight to procure.

She can tell he is surprised as she flicks the blanket open with a snap of her wrist and wraps the quilt around his trembling body and tries to make him comfortable.

"I'll fetch you some tea to warm you in the inside." Belle states kindly before popping off to the kitchens.

She is a rare gem, Rumpel thinks as he watches her disappear into the shadows corridors. How she's always ready to please, and help without being ordered about is a marvel given her situation.

He searches the troves of his ancient mind and can think of no other who would do all this; knowing it was the man she sold herself into slavery to, knowing she had chores on the morrow, knowing that she needs sleep like nothing else, and yet still she remains up and about eager to please the master.

No, he sighs contentedly and allows himself a moment to hunker down comfortably in the thick navy blue blanket, none were like his Belle.

Mentally, Rum makes a note to let her sleep late. She more than deserves it, and perhaps he shall lighten her work load of chores as well so she may take her fancy to other recreations.

A stroll through the grounds, a bit more time tucked away in the library; what would she enjoy most? Kindness to the master does have its rewards but he knows she doesn't do it to gain favor. He doesn't know why she does it, to tell the truth.

Plucking the fringes of the masterfully stitched quilt he tries to lie to himself that that fact doesn't bother him so. If he knew he reasons mayhap he could award or punish her justly. He has made a life of knowing others actions, but for Belle, he doesn't know whether to be relived or frightened he can never tell.

She is an enigma and a delight; a strange beauty that never ceases to turn his world upside down or feel things he's never felt before. He loves it and is frightened to death of it all at once.

He lets the thought fall away as he hears the dull footsteps of her return echoing about the drafty colonnaded halls.

Her hands are laden with the usual silver gilded tray and tea set ready to be put to its daily task. He can see the swirls of warm steam clash with the cool air as she pours the liquid, and he starts to feel warm on the inside just knowing she's gone through all that trouble for him.

"A very dedicated caretaker." Rum sips his tea, unable to halt himself for offering her a little praise for her loyalty. His little impish giggle slightly drifts upon the air before he partakes of another hot draught. "I chose well; very well."

"Well I do try to honor any bargain made to the best of my abilities." Belle smiles warmly, with just a hint of mirth in her voice that never fails to make his heart jerk.

What enchantress was she to make him act so? He never ceases to ask him what thralldom has she bewitched him under whenever he reacts so involuntarily to the slightest of things. A smile, a laugh, a tear all tug upon his black, voided soul when no one else can faze him.

The same thought of why she does goes above and beyond to such measures resurges, baffling him. He drains the cup of all its sweet contents, his insides heating up rapidly, but he doesn't know if it's because of the warmth of the brew, or Belle.

He's banking on the latter but keeps such inappropriate thoughts tucked away in the ageless vaults of his cunning mind.

As expected she dutifully refills his tiny ceramic cup before pouring herself a spot of tea as well. He can spot no malice in serving him, and that as well sends his mind reeling.

"Do you hate me, Belle?" He asks suddenly a brow perching up in curiosity.

He has no idea what possesses him to ask it, but he's found the burning desire to know or guess why she was so avid with her duties and beyond the call of mere fealty that is expected of her. Most paid free, servants are nowhere near as fastidious or dutiful as his wonder Belle.

Her startling azure eyes widen slightly from his question. The ceramic cup, part way to her lips, falls back to the matching saucer numbly with only a slight clink of porcelain upon porcelain. Fire light dances gaily across her pale flesh; toying with the light and dark that flickers upon her face.

"I…no, I don't hate you at all." She replies quietly. Her vibrant cobalt eyes shimmer with innocent honesty that cannot be duplicated even by the most expert of fabulist.

There is a raw honesty in Belle, precious and rare as a pink pearl or fairy dust. Once more, Rumpelstiltskin feels as though he is far from deserving that truthfulness or her in general. Noble, good men deserve to simply have Belle grace their presence, not hideous monsters such as he.

She means it, and he knows it for all the truth her few words hold.

"Even after you practically sold yourself to me to save your home? You find no hatred that I asked you as my price, and took you from everything you knew to a life of scullery and drudgery?" He asks trying to search into her eyes intently for even a hint of betrayal.

He places his cup to the side as forgotten. Its warmth pales in comparison to the fire his Belle ignites within his dark, shriveled heart. "Do you say no because you truly do hate me and are afraid of me?" He lifts a gray-gold claw to her face and tenderly knocks away a curl of her dark amber tresses to have a better look at her.

He wants to absorb her soft exquisite features, fully like the sun's rays cascading down in slanted shafts of gold through the forest canopy after a summer shower. He wants to show her that he won't harm her; never that no matter what she might do or say. "You may speak freely, my Belle; I will not be offended if the answer is yes. There will be no punishment for relating what is in your heart."

She shakes her head, and her lovely, soft russet locks shift slightly to tumble over her shoulders. "I don't hate you, and I never will. I was afraid of you at first, but then I have gotten to see so much more than the legends."

"The legends?" He echoes in faint amusement. His lips twitching slightly to the left in a sardonic quirk. His skinny fingers flourish through the air as if he were carelessly swatting away a gnat. He takes on a prim, lackadaisical air as he inquires of her. "What do the legends say of me?"

"Well." She bites her bottom lip in the most heart stopping way that he forgets what he's asked altogether. "They say you were enormous beast with glistening fangs of ivory and midnight black horns as strong as stone, and could rip a man to shreds with your bare claws."

He faintly casts a disgusted glance at his scaly talons; the tips dirty and blackened points sharply like thorns amongst a rose stem. "Claws? Hmm, and what does Belle think of these old wives tale now?"

Surely she must say there is some truth to them? Of course she must speak what lingers in the very depths of her heart. He knows she must, and thus waits for the painful admittance.

"I think the big bad beast is actually a kind master who should learn to take a cloak with him on his deal makings." Belle laughs, her musical notes flitter through the cold air almost banishing the sounds of the gushing rain that pitter patters on the castle stone.

"But I am a beast just the same." He deadpans, spitting out the words as if they were bile. His deep fathomless, onyx eyes glower into the bickering orange and red flames, for he doesn't desire her to see his hurt and anger.

She must think him a beast, he reasons with himself as he focuses on the crackling wood being devoured ravenously in the hearth. She is merely trying to dodge an answer for pity of him. He should be grateful for that much, he supposes morosely.

Belles hand lands abruptly on his thigh. The sudden action sends his heart leaping high into his throat as she touches him. His breath hitches, and he prays she doesn't notice what her mere touch can do to him so unthinkingly easy.

Why does her one touch do more than any magic every projected at him ever could?

"Would a beast leave his slave a cup of tea and a saucer of cake when she's hard at work? Would a beast bring this same servant back books he collects on his travels because he knows she will adore them? Would a beast weave his servant a cloak to ward off the chill of his abode?" She asks gently if not fervently. The way she sounds, it's almost as though she is defending his humanity against what the world terms him as; what he sees himself as.

"Would a beast procure himself a stunning slave girl?" He retorts sharply, pointing a dexterous finger at her.

His words so carelessly spoken catches up with him immediately in a jolt to his sensibilities. He knows he's blushing under the discoloration of his scaled gray-gold flesh, he only hopes Belle doesn't notice. He had to say _stunning_, hadn't he? Curse all adjectives and his thoughtless tongue, he seethes inwardly as the nervousness twixt them grows and dialates.

Daring a glance he finds her head down, her soft mulled copper tresses curtains her face, her clever fingers smoothing over the ceramic cup rim almost embarrassedly. She embarrassed about his unwitting compliment?

"Sorry." He mumbles through another sip of tea. "I know you do not like to be reminded of your captivity." It has nothing to do about him calling her a slave, they both know this, but it is a rather ingenious excuse to say it is just so the awkward that's amassed in the great hall will alleviate.

She smiles softly at his veiled apology; happy that bit of awkwardness has passed quicker than it has come. In some way they both know what lines to cross and how to tackfully back when they've unwittingly gone a bit too far over.

Suddenly, almost playfully she snatches up a sugar cube from the rotund dish upon the silver gilt tray and tosses the sweet into his cooled brew. Any action to get out of the possessive realm of awkwardness is a joyous welcome.

The splash sends flecks of brown tea spotting intermittently upon his face oddly hued, scaled face. For a moment Rumpel blinks in stupefied shock of her daring.

Only Belle, he knows, would have the courage to do that to the most powerful man in the realms and still retain a graceful straight face with indigo eyes alight in good natured mischief. She teases when no one else dares to and that small fact nearly makes him desire to burst out in hearty peals of ridiculous laughter.

He feigns a disapproving, dark scowl, but his beauty can see right through his guises. Her merry laughter that alights his malignant heart titters whimsically through the chilled air as they lose themselves in jests and tactful quips as the rain pours determinedly upon the realms.


	4. Wounds

A low growl of pain rumbled from betwixt the Dark One's thin lips as he limped into the dusky pink domicile he called home. After watching the chaos of the day unfold in town with people running this way and that in a frantic frenzy to find lost loved ones forgotten in the swampy morass' of the curse, or trying to cobble back what scant portion of their wrecked lives they could manage, his devious amusement had turned to unexpected pain of his own when he realized the border was un-crossable without hazard.

The now resolved and recovered Prince James freely allowed that tidbit, which had effectively dashed every plan he had conceived in the 28 long years the curse had been enact. Such a simple little oversight, now stood like a mountain in his path with no way to scale its perilous peaks.

Once the shop had been closed down and locked up tight for the day, he drove as fast as his sleek luxury vehicle could carry him with the utmost haste to the county line. The gravel was marked with bright orange paint in one rather ominous line from end to end of the asphalt.

Standing there in his usual stance with his cane planted solidly before him akin to some royal scepter, he dared not see if the words were true for himself. Only inches away he could feel the miasma of the curse like a carapace shielded over the town. His, once again magically enhanced sight, could make out the nearly transparent swirling wall rounded upon them in some effective bubble that could not be popped easily.

Charming had spoken truth when their deal for the potion had been forged; he was still unable to get out of the miserable, little backwards shire that hated him as much as he loathed it. Once again there was another barrier put in his path to undo the sins he had committed ages past. Before him stood nothing and yet everything, as though mocking him with that stretch of winding forest road before him that was only steps out of his reach.

Even at the blockade in his path, denying him leave to seek his heir, the Dark One allowed a thin smile to briefly play upon his scowling face. Rumpelstiltskin always appreciated a cunning bit of irony despite the situation. To think the curse he had enacted meticulously all those, what felt akin to eons ago, was now his number one hindrance. Sweet justice, he knew those that despised him would term it if they ever caught wind of his true intentions and why he had manipulated everything in place.

Sullenly, but not defeated, he turned from the border to plod back home in retreat. The only ray of hope in the dismal fog of his mind was to know that he had regained one thing he loved in his life – Belle. But even that had a cloud of despondency drifting over its shafts of light.

The hard thump of his cane beat a steady, yet quiet tattoo upon the word floor as the Dark One sought to sneak into his dwelling without Belle noticing he was home yet. Ever since he had left the county border his knee was screaming in torment.

She couldn't see him like this, he conceded to himself determinedly as he sunk down in the darkness upon the very edge of the rarely sat upon cough in his living room. No one had ever come to call, for any of his rooms to be used often save his kitchen and his bed room down the hall.

Blackness enshrouded the home like a widow's veil, thankfully covering him away from eyes that would peer at his malady. His knee hadn't hurt so terribly in centuries. Now the twinges and spasms of pain of old when he had worked far too long herding the small flock of thin sheep as the mendicant Rumpelstiltskin, the cowardly spinner, haunted him once again.

A tortuous muscle spasm in his knee sent searing pain streaming up and down his leg like fire coursing along his flesh and racing through his blood. Twisted tendons wrenched and twitched in his body, nearly make him scream in torment. The marred and mangled flesh, so horrendously healed with long fleshy, upraised scars seemed to pulse with every beat of his black heart.

Of course in this world, the one the curse had dubbed 'Mr. Gold' had taken pills, but Rumpelstiltskin never had, for even in this world the wounds that so flagrantly flaunted his cowardice had only had a mild twinge or to every now and again. Now, while he sat in the fold of voided onyx rubbing at the aching appendage, he couldn't even begin to guess where the 28 year old pills would be if they hadn't gone bad.

No, he staunchly forced himself not his hiss in pain as another wave of agony crashed over the maimed extremity, he would have to endure as quietly as possible till the pain eased.

"Rum?" Belle's voice abruptly called out into the darkness of the room as though she where uncertain of an actual presence.

Before he could utter a response of a lie that all was well, she managed to find the switch to a nearby lamp on a small side table and flick it on.

Light cascaded into the room, temporarily blinding the Dark One who had grown used to the ebony hue of the room and the coldness wafting about him. Such dark and chill was a trifle of comfort; beasts did enjoy the cold, black crevices to plot and scheme or lick their wounds when they had been beaten back and he was no different. All he desired was to hide from the world that would jump upon his weakness at the first opportunity.

Spots danced intermittently into his eyes like the glow of fireflies. He was caught between trying to banish the black and blue dots from his vision or rub the spasmodic limb brimming with pain.

The maple haired beauty was dressed for bed in a pair of gray and black plaid night pants and some old mulled scarlet button shirt Rum had gifted her. On such short notice, and with no type of night clothing in his shop he had to make do until other shops reopened from the fiasco that was the curse shattering.

He tried to apologize for the lack of things he had to bestow upon her many times since that day in his shop, but she would have none of that. After being locked up for 28 years even a stunning dress and an old dark red, button up shirt was the most exquisite luxuries and fashion to her senses.

Her dark chestnut hair was messily strewn about her head telling the tale she had probably drifted off once or twice before she had shuffled down the hall.

A frown of shame pulled at the fringes of his lips at being caught in such a state, lying awkwardly upon the couch with his aching leg propped up trying to rub out the soreness and the fiercely prominent ache hounding him. "Belle, I'd thought you'd have been fast asleep by now." He attempted to make his voice sound at ease, though a deaf man would have probably heard the teeth clenching strain of his voice barely oozing past his locked jaw.

The beauty offered a simple shrug as she slowly neared. She always perceptive, especially about him. "I tried, but being here alone made me think of being back in that wretched cell; the quiet and the loneliness was disconcerting. Besides, I always used to wait in the Dark Castle for you to get home when you left on a deal and wouldn't be back till late. Old habits die hard, I suppose."

Her brow furrowed in thin lines of concern and mild curiosity as she stepped closer to his taunt, pain ridden figure see his wiry fingers massaging a horrid, nasty injury under the dark blue fabric of his suit. "Did the townsmen do something to your knee?" She inquired lowly, though alarm hinted at the edge of her soft timbre.

"No, beloved." A mirthless huff bypassed his lips that formed into a bitter grimace. No one in the miserable province would dare act against the notorious Dark One. "This was long, long ago."

"Why were you sitting here in the dark?" She queried inquisitively. "Surely this strange land has potions or salves to heal such a wound?" They had shoved so many different pills down her throat all those years in the asylum, there had to be a drug that took such ills away.

One of his fingers hit a quivering node of pain just as he was about to respond. Instead of coherent words a howl of agony erupted from his mouth like a wounded beast dealt a cruel blow. The sound rang sonorously through the antique ridden home in a peal of sheer torment that echoed about the walls.

Racked with the immense voluminous misery, the Dark One could not keep his perilous balance upon the couch and tumbled to the carpeted floor in a heap of torment. His knee wailed in pain, but his bruised pride hurt far more at that moment than any other injury. For all his pain, to have Belle see him fall in such a way, hurt more than the agony in his knee.

He was to be the Dark One, the master of magic, strong and powerful, and yet there he lay a weak craven curled in pain upon the floor with his rediscovered love looking down, unsure what precisely to do. There was no doubt she was gazing in alarm, not desiring to make the situation worse but wanting desperately to aid him.

Humiliation washed over in him its icy dousing of realization he looked as pathetic as he truly was. So much power, and yet he couldn't manage to tend to an old wound the curse kept in place.

"How can I help?" Belle stammered in consternation, looking for anything that might ease and assuage the talons of pain clawing vicious into his leg.

He forced himself not to scream again, not brave enough to look upon her stunning features; fearful he would witness disgust dancing in her cobalt orbs. "Belle….just…just…leave me be. Let me wallow in my pathetic state alone."

That's what he deserved, to be alone in his miseries away from good folk. To lick his wounds in the dark so that when the morning arose the people would tremble at him once more, not knowing he could hurt and bleed like mere humans.

Pain thudded through his skull as he placed his forehead upon the carpet and screwed his eyes shut. He never wanted to seem weak in front of her, and yet there he was writhing upon the floor like a wounded bug swatted by the cruel hand of fate. It was moments such as these he wished with every fiber of his being he had sent her away despite her determination to stay and cull the beast.

At least away she would not be privy to witness his failure, his wounds that engraved the mark of coward upon his skin and bone.

A sigh of relief crossed his lips as he heard her light footsteps heed his plea and hurry away. Yes, it would be best if she was not there seeing him convulse in torment. Pride over pain; he had lived that mantra for many, many years and while it had not always been the best way to live, he refused to give it up again and become the boot licking Rumpelstiltskin.

Finally, with great exertion and much labor he managed to haul himself back upon the couch so that his leg could be set aright. His chest heaved with the agonizing effort, holding testament to his drive to at least sit up, by the incessant brooks of pain bubbling under his marred flesh, and the sticky sweat prickling at the nape of his blue shirt collar.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head up to the stucco ceiling wishing Belle had turned the light off as she retired. He wanted no eyes, as insignificant as they would be to stare at his weakness. No one wanted to be seen in pain.

"Rum." Belle's voice softly pierced the air again like the soft chime of the nuns convent bells tolling out about midnight; soothing and assuring in a way that dash aside all his ills and fears and made one lay their heads down peacefully upon their pillows.

Peeping an eye open he saw she carried one off white cloth draped over her left arm and in her hands a glass bowl of steaming water. A pungent fragrance he couldn't identify swirled up with the steam, wafting about the room in a pleasant perfume.

A part of him should have known shooing her off wouldn't have been a battle easily won, but wracked with so much disparity heaped upon the torment crackling in his strained limb, he had overlooked her bravery and strength of will to endure. In his melancholy, he had forgotten her determination.

He desired to make a dismissing motion with one of his hands, but he dared not take his grip off the twisting limb for even one moment, least another bout of pain seize him in even greater torment.

Forcing back a cry he shook his head. "I thought I told you to go." The words lost their angered snarl under the burden of pain. Not that a fierce snarl and blazing eyes of wrath would have much dissuaded her.

"I know." The russet haired beauty replied simply. Padding over to him, she knelt down by his side carefully as though even being around the pained extremity would cause him torment.

Delicately placing the bowl down by her side so as to not make the warm water slosh upon his no doubt exponentially expensive carpet, she looked up to him tenderly. Comfort shimmered in her eyes of startling sapphire that soothed him more than his paltry ministrations to the gashed appendage. "Did you really think I'd stay away and go to sleep whilst you were down here trying to keep from screaming in hurt?"

Rumpelstiltskin turned his head ashamedly. His straggly, dirty brown hair gratefully covering most of his worn features so she would not see the worst of the pain dancing upon his skin and in the melancholy in his chestnut eyes. His voice was hoarse and low, as though pushing his emotions at bay. "Please, Belle, I don't want you to see me like this." He swallowed what felt like a boulder of shame at his pitiful state.

"Like what?" She inquired, truly baffled.

Belle, his innocent yet brave Belle. Had he not been in so much pain, the Dark One would have chuckled at her confusion. A small ghost of a smile stole upon his lips before it vanished a second later. "My pain, Belle." He explained. "I do not like when others catch glimpses of my agony. Not even you." It was weakness and he could not under any means afford to show a hint of a flaw in his ever sarcastic, dangerous façade.

"Pain is nothing to be ashamed of." Belle rebuffed instantly in her most gentle way.

He did not reply to that. Inside his gut churned in self-deprecation. If only she knew what memories tagged his pain and branded itself upon the ravaged limb. Every scar and mar was the badge of his cowardice; his tale of cravenness.

Slowly, the kind beauty moved her hands to the hem of his suit pants. Her dexterous fingers began working the expensive fibers back to expose his leg little by little to the soft lights glow.

How he wished to order her to stop, to grab her wrist and force her away from the weakness. He seemed akin to a beaten dog, angry and feral, but needing aid he could not refuse. In some ways, perhaps, he did not wish to refuse.

"Y-you won't like what you see." He warned direly, but did not stop her.

If she desired to see what weak, little cripple of a man she loved, then maybe it would be enough to drive her away from his all-around beastliness and save her from the darkness enshrouding his heart. Mayhap her eyes would be open to see a wounded monster, not an injured man.

One hand gripped the highest part of the couch for strength as he relinquished his hold over the pained extremity. His fingertips dug ruthlessly into the upholstery, till he was nearly certain he would tear through the light brown fabric.

In his mind, he prepared himself for her to scramble away at the ugly mass of horridly knit flesh and malformed bone as though face with some malignant disease. The long ago healed limb was not something pretty to look at. Like him, it seemed to mirror his very soul.

As she finally pulled the fabric to uncover his knee a sharp inhale of air sucked fiercely into her mouth nearly made his heart stop. There was the wound before her in all its grotesque glory.

By some last, paltry strength of courage he forced his eyes to look at her for the no doubt appalled reaction. Would she be paled with terror, or green with stomach churning disgust? Maybe she would simply leave out the room at such a sight, and try to banish the image from her mind.

Instead he was met with the tender touch of fingertips gently trailing the ugly upraised scars that crisscrossed and lined the whole of the wound. "Rum." Was the only word gasped through the emotion hitched high in her throat.

It was not the sound of abhorrent disgust or abysmal pity. No, her voice held nothing more than unadulterated compassion that shocked the Dark One. She felt her heart move for him.

Slowly, she pulled her hands away from the horrid injury and dipped her dry cloth into the warm water. After wringing it out, she laid it gently upon the wounds though it was some fragile antique. Her hands diligently pressed the cloth with just the faintest bit of pressure to the pained area.

The heat was balm to the tormented Rumpelstiltskin. Warmth infused his scarred knee, seeping down to the pangs and aches that plagued his wound. Tendons began to smooth and unlock as the muscles relents their grip and ease back to their semi-normal places.

She did not ask where he had received such a foul injury stamped upon his flesh. A part of him knew that despite her insatiable curiosity, that he had found fond and endearing quality about his Belle, her kindness over rode her inquisitiveness. Unless he broached the subject the reason behind the past injury would remain hidden.

"Belle…stop." He finally managed to say after long moments of her ministrations to the scarred limb. With only a very strong will he managed to place his rough, calloused hand over her own to pause her treatment. "You've no duty to tend to me. You are not a slave here. There is no more Dark Castle and our deal was abolished."

In his mind he needed her to know there was no bargain to honor to tend to his every whim. For what other reason would she be so, down beside him tenderly caring for such an ugly scar worn mass of flesh?

The lovely beauty halted, yet her hands remained prone upon the mass of distorted flesh. Her eyes flashed from the wound to his eyes with a look of hurt that made the Dark One's heart jerk. "Duty? You think I did this of duty I owed to you?"

"Why else would you tend to your former captor; a beast, a monster, wretched…thing that I am." The Dark One allowed a laconic, sardonic smirk to cross his grizzled face. "Most would relish the satisfaction to witness me in dire torment. Yet you soothe my wound."

A look of contemplation clouded her lovely features as she resumed her work pressing the heat to the knee to provide him what scant comfort she could afford him. She was silent as the darkness over the town of Storybrooke for lone moments before she deemed to speak again "Someone I knew long ago told me something I should never forget, Rumpelstiltskin. Nothing, no matter how stalwart, stoic, tenacious, or proud can stand upon its own. The ferocious Gryphon needs wind to soar upon its mighty wings of snowy plumage. Mountains require the smaller land around them to proclaim their greatness. Even the waters need the stream and brooks to flow. Everyone needs something, or someone to make them who they are. Or help guide them to who they want to be. One cannot do very well without the other, which I think lays out our relationship perfectly."

Abruptly, a mischievous smile snuck upon her pink lips. "Also, because I love you, silly man. I just wish you would believe me." A sincere grin blossomed upon her porcelain features, causing warm to pulse within the Dark One's withered heart.

"I fear your love is vastly misplaced." He remarked morosely, though by the lazy grin etching his five o'clock shadowed face in was evident he meant it as some morbid quip. He didn't believe her, not yet, though with every passing day she did not run out of his home screaming in terror and disgust, there was another portion of trust to her fervhent words.

The pain in his leg eased to merely a dull ache as she withdrew the cloth for the last time. It was nothing that was extremely strenuous to bear.

After so long dabbing and pressing at the flesh, the water in the bowl finally began to cool. Steam faded into nothingness leaving a mildly tepid liquid that was growing cooler with each passing moment.

It was a trifle chilly in the room, Rum noted by the way he observed a slight shiver shudder through Belle's form. His thin shirt did little to combat the eternal chill of his dwelling.

As she stood, to gather her implements of caring, he suddenly curled his fingers about her arm gently to keep her in place. With one smooth motion he hoisted her on top of him so that she was on his stomach and staring down at his scruffy features.

Only a twinge of pain shot through his leg at the motion, but not a hint of discomfort flashed across his face. Having Belle took away all his ills and hurts far more than any magic or poultice.

Arching a thin brow, the dark amber haired beauty gazed down at her true love in curiosity. "And what exactly are you doing?"

"Putting your little story into action." He replied lowly, his timbre fringed with playfulness. Grabbing the blanket draped over the back of the couch he pulled it over them to protect against the rising chill. "Everyone needs that other part that makes them who they are. And I need you, always and forever. Besides." He mimiced her good-naturedly. "I'm cold."

At that, Belle merely flashed him a mock disapproving twist of the lips before she sighed contentedly and laid her head upon his chest as slumber coaxed them away.


	5. Belle of the Ball

He wants to do something for her. He wants to do something for his Belle.

The thought is like a spearing lancing his brain, but he cannot shake his contemplation. He wants to do something for her, but what? He does not know, so he sits and thinks.

The Dark One watches her from the very corner of his eye as he sits and turns the creaky spinner's wheel in its slow circuitous cycle. The sound is like warped wood screeching on a rusty cart axle, but also soothing in a way that put his thoughts in order as he spares a few glances now and then in her vicinity.

She's as graceful as always while she hums a little bucolic tune and tends to her chores of dusting the mantle or sweeping the floors. At moments when he allows his mind to meander on its own accord he thinks of her a precious dove a beast has locked away in a gray stone cage. He adores her from afar, but nary dares to speak his ardor.

Never would he harm her, his dove, his Belle. He likes to think he takes good care of her. She's not utterly miserable or wretched in her lot. But then he thinks of what has brought her to him. She came not of her own desire, but in chains wrought from the molten irons a sacrifice. A deal of his own making that spirited her away from kith and kin and those who loved her, for surely he can't fathom anyone not loving his precious Belle. Such a thought is near anathema itself!

A frown tugs upon his thin lips as he spins the loom along with spindly claws. The squeaks of the wheel remind him of his flawed thoughts that bring forth the precious golden thread. There is no way he can know if she is happy and content in her situation, but her fate could be a lot worse.

Yes, he decides with a tinge of regret spearing what little remains of a conscious he once obtained, he'll stick with that; it could be worse.

He could show her no kindness at all, but he doubts that would ever dissuade her from being who she is, so warm and thoughtful and inviting. If he was cruel she would still smile. If he never dotted a single treasure to her, she would be the same wondrous Belle he knows at that very moment. She is too good to allow bitterness or hate entry to her light heart.

She is too good for him.

Making the morose contemplations flee from his mind he catches another glance her way. She floats her way to the table in the Main Hall to add a few flowers from the garden he has allotted her as a center piece.

Her movements are nearly akin to a graceful dance. Air is her willing servant that conforms for her at but a command. She seems to glide instead of putting one foot in front of the other. If he didn't know better a part of him would guess that under the fringes of her dirty blue dress, stained with the testaments of hard work and toil, her feet aren't touching the ground at all; merely hovering like some angel sent down into the mortal realms.

His talons curl over the spinning wheel at the thought. The wood gives as his pointed nails dig into the timbre. He chides himself angrily for even letting his contemplations wander so. No, he couldn't think about the dress or what was beneath the cotton for that matter. Her smooth porcelain flesh and long legs and….

No.

No.

Stop.

He hisses so lowly that it seems as though he might have been quietly breathing in pain breaths. His ugly nails dig deeper into the coarse grain of the ancient wheel to help steady him.

Focused, that's what he must stay. But would could draw his mind away from her? Deals.

More importantly, the deal that happens tonight.

Yes, he breaths a freer sigh of relief, that takes his mind off her. Work is only a momentary reprieve from his drifting thoughts, but whatever can help is more than a welcome balm to his burning heart.

Princess Auroras 16th birthday is tonight. The feasts in her father's kingdom will be famed throughout the land for ages to come. The tales shall be the stuff of legend in harder times and sung by children in times of plenty.

Already the banquets tables had been laid out for the peasants and the serfs of the land for seven days and nights. There was plenty to be had by all, even the beggars had full belly's and the dogs were content not to beg for scrapes for the plenty that had been dropped upon the ground and the halls.

He dares to think even the mice were engorged upon the copious amounts of food the wealthy king has generously afforded his people all in honor for his daughter.

Tonight would be the last night of the celebrations. The wizened court magicians have conjured magic's over the most illustrious of the fireworks that will spire high above the palace and illuminate the land for miles around in stunning displays of yellow and blues and reds and greens that sparkle like diamonds in the velvet of night before twinkling away as dying embers to the dazzled, dark earth.

That, however, was only for the commoners. Inside the palace the princess' ball will be well under way and last a better part through the night. Notables from all over the realms will be in attendance, all smiles and tittering laughter and well wishes and burdened with affluent gifts.

For Rumpel balls are a way of scouting out new deals. From the smiling faces he can ascertain worn weariness, worry, and dire need in the dullness of an eye and the lines of need gouged upon their painted, powdered brows so full of haughty assurance. The glittering rooms filled with music and dancers are his fields to be reaped and collect the riches of the desperate.

Also, if Maleficence's curse was to be triggered soon, he'd have to get in with the royals family this night. In desperation they invited him, and always the showman he would arrive in due fashion.

He would have to tell Belle not to wait up he reminds himself. He might not return till the wee hours of dawns first gray light. A smile involuntarily blooms upon his face at a sudden thought. However, the stubborn woman would still probably stay up for his return.

His black heart always jerks in surprise after a long night away from home and he finds her awake and roaming in the expectation of the masters return. Her assiduous will to see him home always touches him in a way the darkness cannot bar. He always tells her to be off to her bed before he departs, but when he arrives late she is still awake to take his cloak and ask should he need any last oddity.

Scolding's and threats avail him not, for she forever is there to greet him home. Punishment or not, that is the one command she refuses to obey, and one he will not force her to heed.

No, he knows with an inward smile of pride, she will stay up.

But what if…?

No, he brushes the thought away with a dismissive grunt as though his mind is swatting away an irksome gnat. Yet even as he spins the wheel and conjure the stalks of worthless straw into heaps of gold, through his lightly pinched fingers the thought refuses to leave him be.

The strange thought, completely unlike the Dark One nags and pleads and pesters to be free of his dark heart and bright a small light to the fathomless darkness.

Surely she wouldn't be trouble. She'll more than likely overflowing with gratefulness and the opportunity. Yes, it'll be just what he needs to reward her. It will be a happy break from the monotony. Something to make her feel dotted upon and well-to-do again if only for a summers night.

"Belle." He calls her name abruptly, but in a soft timbre as though thinking of her was an afterthought. He stops his wheel but focuses on the wooden spokes, his vision looking at his loyal slave girl from the corner of his onyx eyes.

She turns to him, her lips cast in the shade of a smile that is all too ready to spring to her lips. "Master?" Curiosity forever tinges the threads of her pleasant voice.

"I was thinking, would you like to come with me tonight?" He summons he courage against his common sense and the darkness insistence on otherwise.

The beauty stares at him, her doe eyes, bluer than the waters of the eastern shore, wide with astonishment. He hasn't just asked her… ?"You…you mean to the ball you've been talking about?" She asks in shock.

"No the human sacrifice and heart devouring in my honor." Rum quips sarcastically. He snorts once at the faint look of disgust, immediately sorry he proposed such a devilish, evil taunt. "Yes, I do mean the ball." He rectifies in an apologetic voice.

Belle stares in amazement, her face pinioned with the paint of disbelief. Of all the inquiries he will ask, she has not thought that would be one.

The man who barely allows her freedom to take a few hours in the small garden conjoined to the castle itself is asking her to go to a ball in some faraway realm? Belle can barely believe it. Why would he do this out of the blue?

Of course, she knows there is good in him. She witnesses his kindness to her, his eternal prisoner, every day, but this goes beyond the mere kindness of giving her books when back from his ramblings and being witty and a trifle silly to keep her from the realms of dudgeon. This falls into the rarely trod space of trust and camaraderie betwixt them.

His gray-gold features quirk in confusion at her silence. His palms sweat and itch but he refuses to scratch or rub them along his breeches. Was he wrong to be so brash as to suddenly dump her back into the free world again for a few hours, he thinks with an inkling of fear. Perhaps she is insulted of the temptation of a temporary relief from her gilt cage.

"You don't want to?" He asks with a bit of wariness and a bit of disappointment. A part of him thinks his voice sound how it did when he was a young teenager asking the prettiest girl in his village if she would accompany him to the traveling fair.

Back then the girl had laughed in the poor cowards son's face and he had been mocked off dejectedly.

Her stunned features kill that inquiry as soon as it leaves his lips. Belle shakes her head fiercely, trying to veer him from that notion. "No! You misunderstand. It's just that…." She pauses and fiddles with her hands and the two ties wrapped about her waist like she always does when she's ashamed or embarrassed.

"What?" He prods gently, his tone one of kind understanding.

She looks down, scuffing her foot bashfully upon the expense rug and playing with the tassels to avoid gazing into his knowing ebony depths. "It's just that…I have nothing to wear." Belle admits, hiding a blush of shame as though it was her fault why she possessed no grand raiment or golden ball gown.

She has but one dress and a night shift to her name. Every morning the blue dress is somehow cleaned and pressed and slung over the end of her bed, and every night the shift is clean so she can slip into it. Her old golden gown had been ruined long ago, and that itself wasn't very ball-like for any occasion.

And besides, she wipes her hand over her cheek and brings back a smear of grime and night black soot streaked across her already dirty fingers, she is hardly in any state to attend a ball unless she were the scullery maid scrubbing the blackened cauldrons.

"Is that all?" Rumpelstiltskin laughs good-naturedly and stands up from the now still wheel. His feet seem to barely hit the floor as he all but prances like some mad jester in her direction. He offers her a low, playful bow that brings a grin to her face at his sly cunning. He can always make her smile no matter the situation. "I can fix that in short order." He winks roguishly.

He circles softly to her as though she were a timid creature he might scare off. Standing behind the beauty, his claws curl about her shoulder gently; careful not to hold her to hard as magic pulses beneath the stretched flesh of his palm.

His words are gentle and almost…loving. "Just think of what you would like to wear, whatever you desire." The heat of his breath whispers across her flesh making her shiver faintly under his gentle touch. Magic hums through the drafty winds and twitches to do his bidding.

She looks at him strangely, her brow arched, but he silently coaxes her with a small smile that tells her she can trust him with all her heart.

A deep breath heavy with magic fills her lungs and she nods and slowly closes her eyes. She doesn't want anything fancy, for that has never been her desire. She knows how nobles dress for balls, but she wants simplistic and elegant rather than the extreme and gaudy.

In other times before living as a servant to the Dark One she had been privy to see flouncing maidens with no less than five people carrying silken trains from their garbs and festive gowns. She has witnessed poor winsome ladies falling only to become lost in their own folds of ermine and gossamer. She can still picture their slender, pallid arms flailing and legs kicking as though they were drowning in a purple sea of silk.

A gold dress comes to mind, not like the one she wore when she was taken to the Dark Castle. Only the color gold pervade her thoughts because she has grown to adore the shade, especially when the master stands by the window with the sun slanting into the glass. The warm rays makes his skin glitter like gold dust is ingrained in his skin. It's not a bad look, and a part of her secretly thinks it makes him appear rather…dashing.

No hooped rings to puff out the dress, Belle remarks in her mind, she simply wants a few ascetics to make it look trim. She imagines a pair of white gloves that pull up to her elbows, a pair of simple chalcedony tear drop earrings and her mother's necklace wreathed about her neck where the dip in the dress flows.

Her hair, now that was the tricky part. Something simple and yet, not so normal is would make nobles suspicious. A ball was meant for others to look above and beyond in exquisiteness of course. Some extravagance was a must, or more attention, would be drawn by hushed whispers and haughty glares.

She sees what she wants in her mind and lets it flow out; focusing on the image. A part of her hopes he likes her choice. She doesn't know why his opinion is so important. It's not because he's her master, or that he might think it a waste of magic, no deep inside a part of her wants him to think that maybe…she's pretty.

She's not disappointed.

The world comes back into view as she opens her eyes. It feels as though nothing has changed, but Rumpel… he is now standing in front of her like some terribly fashioned statue. His eyes are as wide as black moons. He stares at her owlishly barely even blinking in hopes that the sight of her as she is now will never wane.

She is so utterly beautiful without even trying! He has seen women bedecked in flowing silks and a menagerie of twill and wool and ermine sumptuously heaped upon them. He has born witness to fingers covered by exquisite rings of jade, jasper, diamond, gold, silver, and carnelian so heavy, the hand is lifted as though it were cold stone. In many balls his glance has fallen upon the women clad head to toe like flouncing peacocks with glossy pink pearls braided into their tresses and enough makeup to make a fair jester envious.

But she…she is the fairest of them all.

For a moment he thinks to call the whole notion off, simply to keep her beauty for his eyes only. He does have a wickedly selfish streak at times. But no, he can see expectation dancing gaily in her azure orbs. She hasn't been in civilization in over a year, and now she has a chance to attended one of the most talked about balls of the past moons.

"Do…do you like it?" She asks nervously, anxiousness lines about the corner of her eyes as she stands there with him gazing her up and down. Her white gloved hands twist nervously, in her only give away she is wary of his reaction.

Does he like it? Do crops need rain to grow, do the realms need the sunlight, and does the entire mortal races need air to breath!

What can he say that brimms in his heart to do justice to her beauty? "You…you…you look a lot better than many of those women there will." He finishes lamely in a low cough.

"Thank you." Belle replies timidly, unsure whether to take it a compliment or no.

He doesn't have time to stop and complement her on her garb, she chides herself severely. The master is a busy man who probably was already irked she had asked him such a foolish question.

And yet she knew it to be a stupid feeling but a part of her felt disappointed he hadn't said more.

"Time to depart." His remarks. His words lack life, though not for the reason she thinks. If he speaks in his normal pitch, his timbre will be squeaky beyond all recognition. For the moment, her dazzling beauty is his flaw, the spear in his certainty.

His palms itch, his muscles spasm under the taunt flesh. He seems so much more the cripple standing beside her and his heart can hardly bear it.

Belle looks to him, her brows knit with confusion. "You will not be dressing?" She knows his flair for the flamboyant and to have him in his simple leathers does not seem at all like her garish masters style.

He curses darkly beneath his breath all the while keeping his face taught and natural. Could she even make him forget the simplest things, he ponders half whimsically.

He waves his clawed fingers and in the blink of an eye and a spurt of damson, his garb is prepared. With such beauty at his side, nothing could compare. His only desire is to compliment her loveliness as baby's breath fills the breaches amidst a vase of roses. He is the wine to a fabulous dinner that she is, meant to only go along.

A vest of sky blue dons his torso, the buttons filigreed silver. A laced alabaster cravat inlayed with an oval sapphire upon his throat ruffles out mildly. His breeches are of the same blue and hugs night to his flesh. The boots are only calf high but are polished a shining black. His hair of untamed means hangs clean and fresh. A little longer and he would have had a ribbon to tie back his tresses.

While his flesh is still an ugly gray-gold tint, he cuts a fine figure in his raiment. He can certainly bring out the handsomeness under the snarls and quips and brooding when he desires.

This garb is not gaudy but suits him well, Belle decides. A strange tattoo patters against her heart when she looks at him. She feels honored to accompany him to the gathering.

He bows flamboyantly to the break the spell he had unwittingly cast upon her. "Let us be off, Belle."

"Yes." She nods gracefully to shake of his enchantment. Without a hint of disgust she slips his arm in his.

The Dark One peers upon the gesture in amazement. He did not raise his arm in gentlemanly escort for he thought it not proper. Why would she wish to hand upon the arm of a beast without need? His eyes stare at the gloved arm intertwined within his for a moment. Such loveliness should not be near him, he knows, but she is just the same.

Finding her eyes, he sees her bravery. Her courage and passion glow like the stars and burn brighter surely than those lanterns amidst the heavens. With her, he can also find his strength.

A smile forms upon his lips as he basks in her loveliness. He straightens as true as an arrow, he stands tall until he thinks his spine will snap. His chin is high, and his chest puffed. Oh glorious of moments to have her on his arm!

He places his other talon upon her arm and summons his magic. Purple envelopes them and in one rapturous moment they stand in the shadows of a grand castle. The turrets are bedecked with flowing banners and fluttering pennants and fireworks illume the sky beyond the walls. Music of the low born sort and the high born minstrels mingle with the crowds applause and laughter.

The fragrances of the summer woods overshadow the delectable scents of the keep. Honeysuckle and pine sap drift upon the wind that cools the last of the summer heat over the land.

The moment in the darkness with only the fireworks popping still them with wonder. Both breathe deep, promising to never forget the magical moment. For one night they are more than master and slave. She is once more a princess and he is the Dark One who is not so dark.

Together they share a smile, a strange new smile that neither knew the other could give.

And hand in hand they walk to the ball.

~8~

The hour is late when they arrive back to the Dark Castle. Sunrise is just beginning to light their secluded corner of the word with a splash of faint pink and purple when they step into the Main Hall.

They stagger with fatigue but neither feels sleepy. Both cling to one another tightly, having forgone their shyness early at the ball. The festivities were glorious allowing them both to have their hearts lightened. Auroras father gave strict instructions all should either be courteous to the Dark One, or avoid him. Most considered to do the latter, but with Belle upon his arm their curiosity drew them to her.

Who was the pretty girl the Dark One boasted on his arm? Why did she look so happy? Was she a courtesan? But, no for who would ever be desperate enough for such a job?

Warmly received they mingled separately for a time before the dances began. Everyone was dancing, so much so, there was barely any room to stand in the corners. The Dark One had been merely observing before the whirlwind that was Belle swept him up in a waltz.

So surprised, he hadn't even protested. Instead he melted into the dance. He thought to ask did she truly want to be seen dancing with him, but looking in her eyes, he knew she did not care. And once he was with her, they were disinclined to part.

No, they danced the night away. They danced till the clock struck three and the guests were going home. They were not the last to leave, but certainly the stragglers.

Now back home they finally catch their breath. They are all smiles and quiet laughter with one another, something not ordinary. She clings to his arm and he holds to her.

As they look into one another's eyes, their laughter dies away.

Rumpel smiles kindly to her but does not release her. To do so would break the spell.

"You dance well, my beauty." He declares softly. He calls her that sometimes, he namesake, for the words fits just as wonderfully as Belle.

A snort of laughter falls from her. "As do you, Rumpel." She sighs wistfully. "I could have danced forever."

"And keep the rest of the gentlemen guest forever frozen in jealousy?" He quips cheekily. Oh there had been multitudes awaiting to dance with her, but she had dance with only one.

Finally, letting her hand slip from his, the beauty steps away. Her eyes still glow, reminding him of blue flames. He stands frozen as she says. "There was only one man I wished to dance with, and I got my wish."

With that she departs. She melts into the darkness of the aptly named Dark Castle, leaving the Dark One's heart burning in an inferno.

If only she knew how much he thought the same.


End file.
